


Spread Your Wings

by lilbluednacer



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Auras, But basically canon compliant, Color Theory, F/M, Scott McCall is a literal angel, Scott-Centric, Wingfic, but still a werewolf, implied canonical child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lilbluednacer/pseuds/lilbluednacer
Summary: When Scott is a young boy his mother teaches him how to hide his wings. He doesn't think much of it until he's sixteen and attacked by an animal in the woods and his wings refuse to come out.





	Spread Your Wings

**Author's Note:**

> This follows canon except for the minor fact that Scott is an angel. With wings. Oh, and auras. See, _totally_ canon.

When he is a young boy, Scott's mother teaches him how to hide his wings. 

It's a game, she says. Just a game. She holds her hands out to him and spreads her fingers wide, the signal, and his wings unfold from where they're nestled under his shoulder blades. They're large, with satiny white feathers, so big he can curl them around the front of his body and hide completely.

She claps her hands and his wings retract, folding in on themselves until there's nothing but a faint ridge under his skin on either side of his spine. 

Every time he hides them all the way on the first try he gets an M&M, so the motivation to get it right is strong.

His mother teaches him to hide his wings because of his father. She never says that, never will, but Scott knows. He sees the way his father watches him, how his upper lip curls up in distaste, how he mutters _freak_ under his breath.

One night, when his father has been drinking from a brown bottle, his eyes glazed and red (just like his aura) he and his mother fight. Scott hides on the second story landing, listening to them scream at each other. His father looms huge over his mother, angry words tumbling out of his mouth, and then his gaze flicks up to where Scott's hiding and his face flushes with rage. 

He runs up the stairs and he's screaming; Scott ducks under his father's outstretched arms but then he trips, going backwards over the top step and he starts to fall -

His wings snap out from his back in full extension and his body rights itself, his batman logo-ed sneakers hovering inches above the stairs.

He's flying.

Later, after his father is gone, Scott's mother lets him crawl into her bed and curl up against her stomach under the covers. It's comforting like this, just the two of them, even with the guilt sitting heavy in his small body.

"Did he leave because of me?" he whispers. "Am I bad?"

"No," she says fiercely. "Of course not baby."

"He doesn't like them," Scott confesses, his wings trembling like their feelings have been hurt.

"People are afraid of things they don't understand," she murmurs, stroking the white feathers of his wings. "That's all."

"I don't want anyone to be afraid of me," he confesses. It makes him shiver when he thinks about the way his father had looked at him, like he was some _thing_ , a creature to be feared.

"That's why you need to be careful," his mother says. Her face looks tense but her voice is soft and calm. "Do you understand, Scott?"

"Yeah," he says solemnly. "My wings are scary."

"But you're not," she says firmly. "Okay?"

"Okay," he whispers, and falls asleep against her warm weight to the feel of her fingers stroking through his feathers.

After that night his wings never come out on accident again.

*

His mother picks him up from kindergarten one afternoon and Scott can tell by the twist of her mouth that something is wrong. When they get home she sits him down at the kitchen table and pulls a piece of paper out of her purse.

"Sweetie," she say, smoothing it out so he can see. "Can you tell me what this is?"

It's a picture he drew in class. Scott doesn't think it's anything special - he's drawn himself and Stiles, a few of their classmates. It's just stick figures, their auras in their corresponding colors scribbled above their heads. Scott's own aura is white (faith, goodness, innocence and purity) so he didn't draw it in because it would just blend into the white color of the paper.

"Scott?" she prompts. Her fingers are tracing around the halo above Stiles' head, colored in a bright pastel yellow (intellect, joy, energy and honor). 

He realizes, in a frightening moment of clarity, that she's asking him about the colors, in the same secret hushed tone of voice she uses when talking about his wings. Like there's something wrong with him but she doesn't want him to know.

He hunches in his seat, staring down at the table. "Nothing," he mumbles. "It's just a picture."

"Scott, honey, can you look at me?" He lifts his eyes slowly, guarded, but his mom's expression is warm and soft. "Is this you?"

She points to the stick figure drawing of himself. It's not hard to pick him out - he's drawn his skin light brown, with black hair and eyes, wearing the same red tee shirt he has on right now. Scott nods cautiously.

"I was just wondering," his mom says. "Why everyone else has these pretty little halos and not you?"

Scott blinks, suddenly unsure. "Mine is white," he explains cautiously. "It wouldn't have shown up."

"Oh," she says, and then she laughs. "You're right, it wouldn't have." His mother pushes back from her chair and walks around the table to kiss the top of his head. "You want to do enchiladas for dinner, hmm?"

Scott nods, inexplicably relieved, and slides the picture over to his side of the table with his fingertips. His mom picks up an apron from the hook on the wall and loops the straps around her neck. "Would you draw a picture of me?" she asks lightly.

"Okay," he says brightly, and gets his pack of crayons and paper pad from his art drawer before sitting back down at his seat at the table.

He shakes the crayons out over the paper, looking for the color that's right for his mom. Her aura is a light sparkling blue, the color of healing, understanding, and softness. He finds a crayon called cornflower and brushes the other crayons aside. Scott draws while she cooks dinner, and when he's finished he stands up and holds it out to her.

She crouches down, pulls off her oven mitts so she can take the drawing from him. "Pretty," she says lightly, and doesn't ask him questions about the colors again.

*

Scott finds out that auras can change colors a few days after Stiles' mom dies. The Sheriff drops him off one night for a sleepover and Scott almost recoils in surprise - Stiles' cheerful sunny aura has gone dull, turned dingy yellow (caution, sickness, decay). 

It scares him, the realization that something so fundamental about someone can change like that. His wings itch beneath his skin as Stiles follows him up the stairs to his room. They play video games until his mom makes them go to bed. They sleep in Scott's twin bed together and Stiles cries a little but it's okay because it's just Scott, and he doesn't mind.

Scott lies there awake, waiting until Stiles falls asleep. Stiles is curled up on his side, his back facing Scott. Scott slides close to him and carefully, so they don't even make a sound, unfolds his wings from his back and unfurls them around him and Stiles, so they're cocooned by his feathers, hidden safely behind them.

He falls asleep that way but when he wakes up in the morning his wings have thankfully folded back into his body, a single white feather sticking to the sheets that he surreptitiously throws out the open window before Stiles sees it.

They're eating waffles at the kitchen table with his mom when Stiles suddenly drops his fork and exclaims, "Dude, I had the craziest dream last night! I dreamt you were a _bird!_ "

"Really?" Scott's mom asks wryly, shooting Scott a look that makes him writhe in his seat a little with guilt.

"Your wings were like _this big_." Stiles holds his hands out from his body. "It was _awesome_."

Scott notices then, that Stiles' aura is a little brighter than it was last night, and he doesn't feel guilty anymore.

*

In sixth grade biology Scott learns that if he could stretch out all the blood vessels in his body they'd be long enough to go around the planet, twice. He thinks about his wings nestled under his shoulder blades, amazed by the miracle of his body - how much it can fit in there, how many things can neatly fold up under his skin.

How much his body can hide.

*

High school is overwhelming. There are so many strange kids and they're all bigger than him, and the hallways swirl with their collected auras in a dizzying rainbow of colors. It takes Scott awhile to learn how to untangle them, see all the subtleties that distinguish one individual's aura from another's.

He and Stiles play lacrosse even though they're terrible at it. They have aspirations to one day be the guys out on the field scoring goals, their beautiful girlfriends in the stands cheering them on. The best player in their grade is Jackson Whittemore. His aura is dark green (ambition, greed, and jealousy). Scott's figured out by now that people's auras are usually in alignment with their personality, and avoids Jackson when at all possible.

Jackson's best friend, strangely enough, is Danny Mahealani. Strange, because Danny's aura is a tropical shade of orange, representing enthusiasm, creativity, and determination. It makes Scott a little nauseous to look at them together, a sickening orange-green swirl. 

He makes it work though, figures out how to use it to his advantage. It's like his wings - like walking around with a secret superpower. He uses the colors to learn about the people around them, like a secret cheat code that exists only for him. He figures out that people's auras get darker when they're upset, dull and sickly looking when they're ill. He can spot a trustworthy person a mile away, knows when Stiles is on the verge of a panic attack just by the shade of his aura.

Scott gets a part time job at the local animal clinic. Animals don't have auras, none that he can see anyway. But Scott likes it, helping them, feeding the dogs and cats, likes how he feels around them. There's a purity to animals he finds comforting. Animals don't lie, don't hurt each other the way people do. Their needs are so simple: food, water, shelter, love.

He likes that too, he supposes. Feeling needed. Like he matters, has a purpose. It's a good feeling.

His boss at the animal clinic has a deep blue aura. This is rare, in Scott's experience, and he regards Deaton with equal parts awe and wariness. Dark blue, the color of knowledge, power and integrity. Scott decides he likes this about him, thinking of the cerulean swirls that hover around his mother.

Blue is a good color. Blue is safe.

*

He goes into the woods with Stiles one night because Stiles is crowing about a dead body and Scott is a loyal friend, Scott is helpless in the face of Stiles' enthusiasm.

He goes into the woods with Stiles and they get separated and something is howling and then Scott is running. He runs and he can't breathe and he can't find his inhaler and then the thing that is howling knocks him down and Scott is screaming-

His wings convulse under his skin as pain explodes in his side and he thinks, _fly_ , but he can't, his wings refuse to come out, and there are teeth ripping him apart and at some point everything washes out to black.

When he wakes up in his own bed in the morning his hands are dirty and the sun is shining so brightly it hurts, and when he pulls up his shirt there's nothing there but tan smooth skin.

*

"I'm telling you, it was a wolf!" Scott protests in a low voice, gripping his backpack straps as he walks with Stiles towards the front entrance of school.

Stiles goes on another rant about how that's impossible, wolves haven't existed in California for the past sixty years, and it was probably a dog or an oxygen deprived hallucination, only stopping long enough to say hi to Lydia Martin, who flounces right by them without a single glance.

Scott is wary of Lydia. Not because she's dating Jackson and not because she's terrifying popular, but because of her aura. Scott has never seen another person who has an aura like Lydia's - it's a beautiful bright purple, the color of power, luxury, wealth, wisdom, and magic.

Purple is the color of royalty and Scott can't help but think of that when he sees Lydia in the halls, imagines a crown sitting on her head as she walks right by him. She's intimidating, overwhelming, but he indulges Stiles' crush on her because he secretly thinks yellow and purple are much prettier together than the muddy olive brown color Lydia and Jackson's combined auras make when they touch.

"Scott?" Stiles has his hand on his shoulder. "You with me bro?"

Scott blinks and shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah I'm good."

Stiles grins, slinging his arm around him as they head into school. "That's my boy."

*

There's a new girl in his English class.

Scott barely catches her name, Allison Argent, a name for a princess, because he's so distracted by her aura. It's light red (passion, sensitivity, and love). He watches her in a daze as she walk quickly down the aisle to sink into the empty desk right behind him, because for once in his life luck is on his side.

Allison moves like she's trying to hide, head down and long curly brown hair obscuring her face, but her aura is so bright it's all he can see, the classroom washed out in a sheer sea of red. Scott notes absently that the combined colors of their auras would be pink - romance, love and friendship.

Their teacher says something about Kaftka's Metamorphosis and Scott winces as everyone loudly opens their backpacks and digs around for their book. There's something wrong with his head, every noise is sharp and grating, but he's so enamored by the new girl he can't get too worked up about it. By the time the noise settles Allison's the only one unprepared, still hunched over her book bag, desperately rooting through it. She's whispering under her breath to herself, Scott concentrates and realizes he can hear her, quietly ranting to herself about a pen, _how could she forget to bring a pen?_

Scott pulls an extra pen out of his backpack, turns around in his seat and holds it out to her in offering. Allison blinks in surprise, her body slumping back in her chair, clearly relieved, and mouths _thank you_.

Scott can't help but smile with his whole face and watches, delighted, as Allison's lips curve up in a shy grin as she wraps her fingers around his pen.

*

By the time lacrosse rolls around that afternoon Allison has been officially adopted into Lydia Martin's social circle, because of course someone graceful and beautiful like Allison would want to hang out with someone as equally luminous. It's disappointing but not exactly surprising, and he tries to put all thoughts of her light red aura out of his head as he gets his lacrosse gear on in the locker room.

First line, first line, he thinks to himself, ignoring Stiles' rhapsodizing over some brilliant thing Lydia said under her breath in calculus. Scott pulls his jersey on over his pads and laces up his shoes, visualizing himself scoring a goal.

First line, line line, he thinks, and slams his locker closed. Six feet away Isaac Lahey jumps at the noise, head whipping around to give Scott a twitchy little sneer. There's a bruise on his cheek the same color of his aura, yellow-green, the color of cowardice, discord and jealousy.

He and Stiles walk out on the field together and Scott stops in his tracks when he sees that Allison is here, sitting on the bleachers next to Lydia Martin. Their auras look beautiful together, like a valentine. Stiles' own yellow aura flares as bright as the sun when he notices them.

"Someone looks excited to see you," Stiles says, elbowing Scott in the side.

Scott's head snaps back up to the bleachers, where Allison is giggling next to Lydia and lifting her hand to quickly wave at him before shivering and crossing her arms over her chest. He tilts his chin up at her, giving her the universal nod for _what's up_ , and doesn't miss the way Lydia seems to notice and jab her elbow into Allison's arm.

"The hell are you looking at McCall?" Jackson shoulder checks him, sending him stumbling into Stiles, face hot with humiliation.

"Ignore him, ignore him," Stiles mutters, giving Jackson the finger. "You'll get him back on the field."

"Yeah, right," Scott mutters dejectedly. "Like that's ever happened."

Except it does.

Scott doesn't understand what's happening. He's faster somehow, he's stronger. It's like he can feel Jackson coming, can see the green flare of his aura and has plenty of time to catch the ball Jackson shoots at him. At some point he just goes with it, relaxes into the thrill of finally being good, being strong, his lungs full of air, heartbeat pounding in his ears as he throws out his stick and catches another ball.

Jackson's aura is so dark it's almost black. Up in the stands Lydia and Allison are cheering, Lydia actually twirls a strand of her hair around her finger and _winks_. When Scott looks at Stiles he's staring back at him with a look of absolute bafflement on his face, and all Scott can do is helplessly shrug.

*

After they've showered and changed into street clothes Stiles drives them back to the woods because Scott can't find his inhaler and his mom might actually kill him if he doesn't locate it. Scott tries to explain what happened at practice while he walks and Stiles playfully roars at him and makes werewolf jokes.

They get to the spot where Scott is sure he dropped it but his inhaler isn't there. He freezes, going over it in his head - he saw the body, the deer came running, and he dropped his inhaler. 

"Maybe the killer moved it when he moved the body?" Stiles suggests.

"If he did I hope he left it," Scott mutters. "Those things cost like eighty bucks."

"Hey, what are you doing here? This is private property."

There's a guy standing across the clearing. He looks older, early twenties maybe, and he's huge, Scott can practically see his muscles through his leather jacket. The guy looks pissed too, Stiles instantly blurts out an apology and Scott starts to mention his inhaler but chickens out, murmuring _forget it, I have to work_.

The guy holds up his hand - he's holding his inhaler. Scott's mouth falls open in shock as the guy throws it and it's like earlier, with the lacrosse ball. Like he has all the time in the world to catch it.

"Dude, that was _Derek Hale_ ," Stiles hisses when they're walking back to the Jeep.

Apparently Derek's only a few years older than them, hasn't been in Beacon Hills for a decade, since his entire family died in a house fire. Scott and Stiles spend the walk to the car spitballing theories about why he's back and it isn't until Scott is at Deaton's that he figures out what's bothering him so much.

Derek Hale doesn't have an aura.

*

Allison shows up at the tail end of his shift, crying and soaking wet, like a helpless animal. And for some reasons she allows Scott to comfort her and deal with the dog in her car. She laughs at his jokes and when Scott asks her if she'll go to a party with him on Friday she says yes, even though he heard her tell Lydia earlier that she couldn't.

Scott falls asleep that night thinking about that dimple in her cheek and completely forgets about wolves and the strange, aura-less Derek Hale.

*

The next day at school, Scott makes first line.

For the first time in his life it feels like everything is coming together. Allison is going to a party with him, he's finally getting to play instead of sitting on the bench. Even Lydia notices him, a little delighted smirk on her face when she catches his gaze.

The only blight on his perfect day is that Stiles has gotten obsessed with the body they found in the woods. Or more particularly, the animal hair the forensics team found on the body. Scott can't help it, he gets annoyed, because this is it, a real opportunity to become popular, _cool_ , everything they've always wanted, and Stiles won't shut up about werewolves.

Scott yells at him, accuses Stiles of trying to ruin everything, and Stiles retaliates by trying to cancel his date with Allison. Stiles takes his phone and something in Scott just snaps - he snatches the phone back and shoves Stiles, his brother, into a wall, and then without even thinking about it, throws his desk chair across the room.

The burst of rage ends as quickly as it started, leaving him panting in the middle of the room, a little shell-shocked.

"I didn't meant to do that," he says stupidly 

Scott says he's sorry twice but he still walks away, ignoring the way Stiles' aura has darkened to a gross shade of mustard.

*

The party is terrible.

His head hurts again, the music feels like a pounding physical thing inside his body. He's standing in line at the keg to get beer for Allison when he feels them, his wings trembling under his skin, like a warning.

A dog barks.

Scott's head turns automatically to follow the sound and he almost drops the two cups he's holding when he sees Derek Hale standing in the yard next door, staring down the dog into silence. And then he catches Scott's eyes and for a brief second Scott swears, his eyes glow, and then Derek's gone, melting into the darkness.

Scott stumbles back to Allison and it turns out neither of them like beer so they dance instead. He has to keep shutting his eyes because everyone's auras are running together in a nauseating swirl of colors. He blinks them open and Allison's staring at him, her face tinted pink by her aura, a shy smile on her face.

He blinks again and across the yard he sees Lydia grinding with Jackson, making out in a way that is positively salacious, and then Lydia opens her eyes, Jackson's mouth on her throat, and stares right at Scott, her purple aura eclipsing everything in sight.

He looks back at Allison and she's so close, lips parted and hopeful, like she wants him to kiss her. But everything is so loud and too bright and Scott can't stand it anymore, total sensory overload. Allison suddenly looks concerned and she's saying something but Scott pulls away, mumbling an excuse, and stumbles back through the house. People are everywhere, he has to shove himself through hoards of bodies until he gets outside, and runs all the way home.

He curls up in a ball on the floor of his bedroom, dizzy and nauseous, the facts swirling around in his head. Animals don't have auras. Derek doesn't have an aura. Something in the woods bit Scott, and they found an animal hair on the body.

The hair of a wolf.

Someone's suddenly there, saying his name, and Scott thinks of glowing eyes and yells, wings contracting against his shoulder blades, but it's only Stiles on the other side of the door and Scott can't stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, from confessing:

Derek Hale is a werewolf.

Derek Hale bit him in the woods.

What he doesn't say - he used to be a boy with wings but now he's an animal.

*

He goes looking for Derek, walks deep into the woods with the light of the moon electric against his skin. He ends up not far from the old burnt out husk that used to be the Hale house. Scott shivers as he walks past it, imagining a whole family's worth of auras turning black and blinking out of existence.

He tips his head back and howls at the moon. "Derek!"

"Shh!" Derek appears from out of nowhere. It still shocks Scott, that he doesn't have an aura, but all of a sudden red bleeds into the periphery and Derek's hissing, _they're here, run!_

Scott runs after him, the sounds of men running after them, heavy footsteps crunching over leaves, ringing in his ears. There's a whistle of an arrow in his ear and Scott shout in pain, or shock, it's all happening so fast, but Derek is there, tugging him away, getting him to run until they lose them.

"Who were they?" Scott pants, blood pumping in his ears.

"Hunters."

And then Scott kind of freaks out because not only did Derek bite him and make him into some kind of freak, hunters are after him and it's all Derek's fault because Derek bit him.

Derek dodges him easily, picks Scott up from behind and throws him into a tree. Scott feels his wings crunch up under his skin, he gasps out and growls, pulls himself back up and uselessly throws himself at Derek again.

"What did you do to me?" he cries.

The older boy easily dodges him, constantly moving just a bit faster, keeping Scott off balance. "The bite is a gift," he says cryptically.

"Well I don't want it!"

Derek smirks. "It's not exactly a gift you can return."

"Aurgh!" Scott swings at Derek, who easily catches his wrist in his hand and twists his arm behind his back. 

"Stop fighting me, I'm on your side!" 

Scott's jaw drops. "On my side?"

"You need me," Derek says in a hushed voice. "You have no idea what you've gotten involved in."

Scott gapes at him. "What I've _gotten involved in?_ "

Derek's eyes are pale pools of light in the darkness. "We're brothers now, Scott."

Scott thinks about how he yelled at Stiles earlier, his beautiful yellow aura turning dark because of what Scott did, and his whole body floods with shame. 

"I don't want to be your brother," he spits vehemently, and when he walks away Derek doesn't stop him.

*

The next day Scott finds Allison at her locker and apologizes, asks her for a second chance as nicely as he can, and Allison's aura sparkles the prettiest light red color as she agrees. He's so happy he wants to throw his arms around her, or kiss her, right outside of school, but Allison smiles demurely and tilts her head towards the curb where an SUV has pulled up.

"That's my dad, I gotta go," she announces, waving goodbye as she walks away.

Scott's eyes drift to the man in the car and he stumbles back in shock because he knows that aura, it's the one he saw in the woods last night with Derek. The aura of a hunter.

In the light of day Scott can see that his aura isn't completely red, it's a dark red-brown. Brown is a masculine color, indicating stability, and he ponders it all the way to lacrosse practice, testing how he feels about that, if it's enough to make the red not matter.

And then he feels like an idiot, because red, _dark_ red is bad, Scott knows red is bad, has known it since the night his father left. He wonders if Allison knows, that her father spent last night running in the woods hunting the boy she likes. Wonders if the fact that her aura is _light_ red, practically pink, is enough to balance out the core fact that red is a color he will never be safe around.

Lacrosse practice is a good distraction. Scott has to keep all of his focus on Jackson, who is clearly trying to kill him on the field. Down by the tree line Derek is hovering, openly staring at Scott, but when Finstock blows his whistle to indicate that practice is over Derek is gone, vanished like smoke.

It freaks Scott out that he doesn't have an aura, can't use it to read him. He gets the feeling Derek has a distinct edge over him - he's stronger, he knows things.

_You need me._

Jackson gets him by the hem of his jersey halfway to the bench. "I'm going to figure it out," he growls.

"Figure what out?" Scott asks innocently.

Jackson shoves him. "Figure out whatever it is that you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything," Scott protests. 

Jackson's aura ripples a shade darker. "Sure," he sneers. "Whatever."

*

Scott wakes up in the woods. He wakes up in the woods and he runs and howls and throws himself onto the dirt.

He wakes up to Allison standing right in front of him. They're in a school bus and she's smiling, she's holding his hand and whispering _Scott_ and it makes him melt, the sound of his name on her lips: the hiss of the _S_ , the crisp _T_ her tongue makes when she taps it behind her teeth. Allison's smiling but it looks wrong, sinister, and there's red, red, everywhere but it's not her aura, it's blood, all around them.

Scott wakes up and he's in his bed and his clock is flashing 6:08 AM. He's covered in sweat and there's a withered grey thing on his pillow that smells like death.

He recoils on instinct before bending over and picking it up. It's a feather, crumpled and ugly and dark. Scott stares at it in his hand, his wings quivering under his skin. Scott holds his hand out the window and lets the feather go, watching it fall sadly to the ground. It must have blown in through the open window while he was sleeping. 

He stumbles out of bed, sticky with sweat, and goes into the bathroom. He strips, turns the shower on and brushes his teeth while he waits for the water to get hot. Scott spits, rinses his mouth, lifts his head and freezes when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

His aura is gone.

Scott bends over the sink, gets close enough for the tip of his nose to touch the glass. He opens his eyes as wide as he can and stares at the negative space around his head but instead of a wispy white halo all he sees is the opposite wall of the bathroom in the reflection. He presses his fingertips against the mirror, but no matter how many times he sweeps his hand against the glass his aura doesn't appear.

He steps into the shower on shaking legs. Scott sticks his head under the water and shoves his fist against his mouth, resisting the unexpected urge to cry. He's never given his own aura that much thought, is infinitely more interested in other peoples'. He's always thought about it as a part of him, an extension of his body, like his wings.

He didn't know it was something he could lose. He thought his aura was like his shadow; it sometimes required the right light to see it, but it was always there.

And now it's gone.

Scott covers his face in his hands and weeps until the water runs cold.

*

He's frantic by the time he gets to school, his nightmare still flickering in his head: Allison, the bus, the blood. Stiles can't calm him down, nothing calms him down until he finds Allison - perfect and whole, fine, and Scott is so relieved he forgets about his missing aura. 

And then they find the body of the bus driver. The parking lot is a mess: patrol cars, an ambulance, students milling around because this is way more interesting than learning how to conjugate the subjunctive or analyze the latest chapter of Gatsby. 

Scott doesn't want to go anywhere near it, breathing heavily through his nose, tasting copper in the back of his throat. Red explodes in his vision and Scott flinches, thinking of his father's blood-red aura, but it's only Allison. 

"Hey," she says softly. "You okay?"

He blinks and the wash of red fades away, leaving behind the lighter color of her aura. It's just Allison, he reminds himself, all ivory skin and dark curls and big brown concerned eyes. He forces himself to smile and nod, strokes her wrist reassuringly.

"Yeah," he lies, feeling sort of absurdly touched by her concern. "I'm fine."

At lunch the attack is all anyone can talk about. Scott and Stiles talk in hushed voices, debating who is more likely to have attacked the driver - Scott, or Derek. It wasn't Derek, Scott insists. Derek knows what he's doing, Derek moves through the world with the slinky assuredness of a predator. 

Derek stood under the full moon perfectly in control, while Scott ran in the woods and went to the school and attacked someone and he knows it to be true because he saw it, he remembers it.

Just like how Scott remembers being little, his mother trying to explain his father's fear, and the cold little seed of doubt planted inside himself - that maybe he was bad, maybe there's something unequivocally wrong with him.

Maybe he's dangerous.

Lydia shows up with Jackson and Allison like a queen flanked by her royal subjects and promptly interrupts them by plopping down at their table, everyone else quickly following suit. Jackson and Danny are debating as if it's certainly an animal attack, mountain lion versus cougar, and Scott is only moderately relieved that no one says anything about wolves.

"A cougar _is_ a mountain lion," Lydia says, and when everyone stares at her she tilts her head, eyes glazing over in a vacuous expression. "Isn't it?"

"Who cares?" Jackson sneers.

Scott watches, fascinated, as her aura flickers mauve-grey, all the color fading out of it.

Stiles brings up a media report on the bus driver attack and Scott is horrified all over again when he realizes he knows him, from back when Scott was living with his dad and they took the bus together.

Lydia swiftly changes the subject to Scott and Allison's upcoming date and promptly invites herself and Jackson along, purple slowly leaking back into her aura until it's the right shade of violet again.

*

When he goes back to Derek he doesn't know what he's expecting really - for Derek to tell him he's okay, that he's not going to hurt anyone, that he doesn't have to worry about accidentally ripping Allison's skin from her body with his claws.

Derek, unsurprisingly, doesn't reassure him about anything other than that he can apparently teach Scott how to control the shift. It's so frustrating - that feeling again, that Derek is holding all the cards, Scott just some idiot that Derek bit and turned into a werewolf for - why? Because he _could?_

It's so ridiculous he almost can't believe it altogether, but there's a tickle of wings inside his body reminding him that nothing is impossible.

Derek sends him back to the bus and because Scott doesn't know what else to do he brings Stiles as a lookout and creeps under yellow police tape to let himself inside the vehicle. The memory comes back in flashes, red red red, but this time someone else is there too and Scott can pick up on impressions, feelings, and when he walks away he's certain that it wasn't him, that he didn't hurt anyone.

His wings settle quietly beneath his skin like they're pleased by this revelation.

*

The group date goes infinitely better than the party, without the pull of the moon and the pounding music to distract him. Scott doesn't suck at bowling anymore either, the same strange thing that happened at lacrosse practice asserting itself, his hand-eye coordination so good it feels magical.

Allison has a good time, she flirts with him, hell, even _Lydia_ flirts with him. Scott wonders at this, if being changed has affected him deeper than a purely physical level, thinking absently of Derek's raw animal sexuality, if somehow being bitten has changed his very energy.

Scott tries to make good with Jackson, who rebuffs him and accuses him of being on steroids. And then he implies maybe it's something weirder, because Scott is obviously a freak, and even though Jackson's aura is a glittering cruel green Scott sees red, all around him.

The night ends on a high note though, because Allison wants to go out with him again, just him. Scott comes home feeling better than he has in awhile, even with Jackson's threat to uncover his secret hanging over his head. And then Stiles shows up because the bus driver died, _succumbed to his wounds_ , and Scott is sick to his stomach again because he knows, he knows that someone killed him and it has to be Derek.

Scott goes running in the woods until he finds Derek. Scott screams at him, accuses him of being a killer. He doesn't know why it's so easy, to unload all his rage onto the older boy. Maybe because Derek is so calm in the face of his anger, just takes it, radiating power and control. He's condescending, he makes Scott feel like a stupid emotional child and it feels so good, to have someone to blame, a concrete reason for why there's something wrong with him.

He accuses Derek of being a cold blooded killer. He accuses him of ruining his life.

And then Derek tells him he didn't bite him.

"There's another," Scott says dumbly.

According to Derek it's called an Alpha, more dangerous than either of them. Scott listens while Derek monologues about pack hierarchy and his dead sister, explains that the body Scott and Stiles found in the woods (not a body, a wolf and a person, with a name, Laura) was bait. Derek's trying to find him but he needs Scott to help him.

When Scott asks him why, Derek levels him with a look and explains that the Alpha bit Scott, which means that Scott's in his pack. 

The Alpha wants Scott.

*

He's supposed to go to Allison's after school the next day to study but Derek shows up in the parking lot, paper white and sweating, groaning out some story about being shot with a magical werewolf bullet. He's ranting about the Argents and the bullet, insists that Scott can get one from Allison, that he needs it. They get him into Stiles' jeep and Scott leaves, running so he gets to Allison's at the same time she does.

Her house is beautiful but bare. No paintings on the walls, no decorations, just simple furniture. Allison's room is still full of boxes and when Scott teases her about it her aura deepens to an uncomfortable shade of red, like he's accidentally upset her. The ringing of his phone breaks the awkwardness a little, Scott sends Stiles to voicemail and shuts his phone off.

"Who's that?" he asks, pointing at random to a picture on her desk of an older woman with her arm wrapped around Allison's shoulders.

"Oh, that's my aunt Kate, she got here last night," Allison says casually, her aura lightening back up.

Scott frowns at the picture. She looks familiar to him and he thinks again about Argent in the woods that night with Derek, the sound of the arrows, the running, the horrible cascade of red auras.

He needs a distraction, because it's just too unsettling, points to some other pictures and asks Allison if she took them. Allison starts to ramble a little, like she's nervous, details all her failed hobbies to him, leading him down to the garage so she can show him -

It's a bow. The girl he likes is standing in front of him holding a bow. She's laughing, like it's a joke, cocking her hip as she lowers the bow. Scott goes numb, weakly jokes that she's hotter without a weapon.

She pulls the bow away.

Gives him a self-assured smile and walks to stand between his open legs. "So you think I'm hot, huh?"

"So hot," he mumbles, like an idiot, but Allison smiles and tilts her face, lips pursed, and Scott sinks into the kiss, red flaring behind his closed eyelids.

He could kiss Allison forever he thinks, and just as he's starting to really lose himself in it, in her, Allison's dad shows up and they guiltily break apart.

A woman calls out from the shadows, yelling something about groceries, and Scott and Allison dutifully follow her dad into the kitchen, holding hands behind his back. Scott stops when he sees the woman; its Allison's aunt, the woman from the photograph.

He stops because her aura is dark orange-red. Scott's whole body goes cold - orange-red, dark orange-red, is a dangerous color. It's an _untrustworthy_ color (deceit, domination, and aggression).

Qualities that would fit a hunter.

My. Argent not-so-subtly implies that it's time for Scott to go home and he'd happily leave but Kate won't let him. Instead, she invited him to dinner. Scott's already ambivalent but when he gets to the table and sees Allison's mom sitting there he almost turns around and runs right out the door.

Victoria Argent's aura is deep red.

Scott's father isn't the only reason red is a bad color, just the most obvious. Red represents anger, rage, wrath, and malice. If Scott still had an aura it would be turning ashy grey in fear right now. He has to force himself to sit down, awkwardly jokes about accepting a shot of tequila. It seems to break the ice, he manages to get though an inquiry of lacrosse before asking to use the bathroom and escaping.

It doesn't take long for him to find the bullet. It's in Kate's room, in a black bag full of weapons. He swallows back bile, pushing through the haze of red and pockets the bullet. Kate catches him just outside the door and he gives her the puppy dog eyes, acts stupid, prays she'll fall for it.

She doesn't, accosting him at the front door while Allison stands next to him, her aura dark with humiliation. She defends Scott, which makes him feel worse, but then Allison says, _it was me, I did it_ , and she pulls out a condom.

Scott almost passes out and leaves before Argent can skin him alive.

*

He's in Deaton's office one night looking for a new shipment of cat food when he sees the book high up on a shelf behind Deaton's desk. _Angels and Ancient Religions, A Comparative History_. Scott reaches up and takes the book down, flips to a random page and smooths it out.

It's a copy of a painting. A naked man, pale skinned and muscled, floating in a blue sky, a huge set of wings spread out from his back. Scott runs his fingertip over the wings, the white feathers, feeling a strange tremble run through his bones.

"Taking an interest in art history?"

He startles but it's only Deaton, watching from the doorway. "I - they're just beautiful, I guess."

Deaton nods and strokes his chin. "Yes, angels are typically depicted as classically beautiful. You know, the word angel comes from the Greek angelos, or messenger. They were thought to be messengers between humans and God. The people who painted them saw them as divine."

"Were they?" Scott asks before he can help themselves. "I mean, why did they think that?"

"Oh, the reason why they believed most things. It was what their religion taught. Well, Western religions, anyway."

"What about the others?"

"Oh, all kinds of things," Deaton says vaguely.

"But they're not real," Scott says, thinking of his mother's smooth, wing-less human back and his father's disgust. "Angels."

Deaton smiles enigmatically. "Who's to say? Those people certainly believed they were communicating with the divine."

"Not freaks?" Scott asks wryly. "People with giant wings didn't scare them?"

Deaton's aura betrays nothing. "People only fear what they don't understand."

"So they believed?" Scott asks. "What, in God?"

"They believed in something bigger than themselves. Humans are so desperate in their longing for meaning, you'll find. We need to believe that we have a purpose, that we matter. The idea of the divine interacting with the human - well I'd imagine that would bring many people comfort."

"So angels were good."

"Good and bad are simply polarities of the same scale, merely judgements we make based on our own preferences. They believed that they were holy."

Holy, Scott thinks, is a much more beautiful word than freak.

*

Scott skips school with Allison one day. Tensions are high, the town is convinced there's a mountain lion on the loose, and Scott is beyond stressed about the fact that there is an Alpha werewolf running around attacking people, trying to get to Scott. Oh, and his girlfriend's family is made up of hunters who want to kill him.

So he skips school with Allison, they get in her car and drive off to a random field by the woods and park under a tree. Allison turns the car off, undoes her seatbelt and shifts so she's facing him.

Allison gives him that shy smile he loves, tucks a curl behind her ear. "I really don't feel like talking," she says softly.

He undoes his seatbelt in suit and raises an eyebrow. "So what do you want to do?"

Allison leans over the gear shift, eyes twinkling. "This," she whispers, and kisses him.

Scott reaches for her waist with both hands to pull her into his lap. Allison reaches down past him for something and his seat rolls back. Scott groans, slides his hand up her shirt to splay across her back. He loves her body, her long toned legs, her soft stomach and the curves of her breasts under her shirt.

"Take this off," Allison whispers, tugging at the hem of his hoody. "I want to see you."

She leans back, eyes dark with desire, watching him peel off the sweatshirt and thin blue tee shirt he has under it in one fluid motion. Allison reaches out, bottom lip held between her teeth, and brings her hands to his shoulders. Scott reaches up and cups the back of her neck to pull her down to kiss again. She sighs into his mouth, her hands tiptoeing across his collarbones, down his biceps, back up around his triceps.

Scott runs his thumb under her jaw, shivering when her tongue licks into his mouth. Her hands spread across the backs of his shoulders and Scott kisses her hard, wanting to consume her, taste every part of her, lost to the rhythm of her hips rolling in his lap.

And then she find it, that secret place on either side of his spine where his wings hide and Scott gasps, electrified, his hand clenching in her hair. Allison pulls away, her head tilted curiously, running her fingers around the edges of his shoulder blades.

"What is this?" she asks, trying to pull him farther away from the back of the seat. "Are these scars?"

"It's fine," he breathes, trying to kiss her again, but Allison is totally distracted now, running her fingers down the faint lines on his skin.

"No really, are these scars?" she asks. "Scott, what happened?"

"Hey, it's not a big deal," he says, trying to reassure her. "I uh, had an accident when I was a kid, that's all."

"What happened?" Allison asks, looking stricken.

"I uh, fell down the stairs," he lies. "Got scraped up."

"Oh," she whispers, curling over him so her hair falls around them like a curtain. "But you're okay?"

"Almost," he whispers, and this time when he tries to kiss her she kisses him back. "There, now I'm okay."

*

Everything gets completely out of control. The Alpha attacks Jackson and Lydia at the video store. The Alpha gets them all into the school at night and kills a janitor and they get trapped in the chemistry room. Everyone is afraid, Allison is afraid. She calls Scott a liar and then she begs him not to leave them but he does it anyway. He won't let the Alpha kill his friends, he runs and shifts and gets outside the school.

After it's over, when the Sheriff has shown up and all his friends have been accounted for, he finds Allison. She's so upset, she says her dad is picking her up and she won't listen to him. She throws words like knives at him. _I don't trust you, I don't care. Don't call me._

Scott goes home, drags himself up to his room. He thinks about the look on Allison's face, like she's been totally betrayed by him, like she knows that he's a liar, that he's not the person she thought he was, not the boy she wants anymore.

Like she knows he's a freak. Scott yanks off his shirt and stands in front of his mirror, screws his eyes shut and releases his wings. He opens his eyes slowly, mouth dropping in horror when he sees them in the mirror.

His wings are grey now.

They aren't beautiful and white, _divine_ , they're prickly and grey and wrong. Scott screams and punches his hand right through the glass and it feels so good he keeps going. He pops his claws and tears into his pillows, little white downy feathers floating in the air, a reminder of how beautiful his wings used to be.

But he's not an angel anymore, he's not anything holy. He's a monster: he breaks, he bleeds, he doesn't have an aura.

His books are next, they get torn from his bookshelf and tossed onto the floor. He rips his dresser drawers out, sending his clothes flying into the air. Scott collapses onto the floor, kicks at the bed frame because his beautiful wings are dying and Allison hates him and he doesn't want to be like this, why is he like this, why-

"Hey!" His mother is standing in the doorway, looking absolutely appalled. "What the hell is going on?"

Scott freezes, tangled up in feathers and fabric and broken glass, blood trailing from already-healing cuts over his knuckles.

"Scott!" she yells. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Why am I like this?" he asks hoarsely.

She steps back, eyes scanning over the mess of his room. "What?"

Scott pulls himself up, feet crunching over glass. "Why am I like this?" he yells, and starts to cry. "Mom, why am I like this?"

"Oh honey." She wraps him up in a hug, his sad grey feathers hanging limp under her arms. "I don't know baby."

"How can you not know?" he sobs. "I need to know, why don't you know?"

"I'm sorry," she murmurs, swaying back and forth. "I just don't. You've always been like this. My little angel."

"I'm not," he chokes, squeezing his eyes shut. 

She presses her lips to the side of his head. "I'm your mom. I'm always going to think of you like that."

She goes down to the kitchen and brings up a trash bag and a broom before kissing him goodnight and shutting his door behind her. Scott sweeps up all the broken glass, folds his clothes and puts the drawers back in the dresser, lines up all his books on the bookshelf. When he's finished cleaning up he turns off the light and walks over to the window. 

Scott slides it up and swings his legs over the sill to sit on the ledge. It's a cool night, a crescent moon hanging in the sky. Scott inhales deeply, breathes slowly as his wings flutter in the breeze.

Tomorrow, he vows, will be different.

He'll find Allison and convince her to take him back. He'll track down Derek, come up with a plan for the Alpha. He'll get Jackson off his back, he'll get everyone to forgive him, for leaving them there back at school.

He'll learn how to be a wolf. He'll learn how to control the shift, how to hide from hunters the way he's always hid his wings. He won't be a freak. He'll be something different, something new maybe. Something better.

But for now it's dark outside and his wings are in full extension. It's been so long he thinks maybe he won't remember how to do it. Maybe he'll just fall. But he has to try.

Scott lets go of the windowsill and he jumps, his wings spreading out in full extension, trembling with exhilaration.

And then he flies.


End file.
